


Trade

by Kitty Fisher (kittyfisher)



Category: Smallville
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Historical, Kryptonite, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:24:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8419540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittyfisher/pseuds/Kitty%20Fisher
Summary: Written a long time ago for Nerodi. A barbarian finds himself accidentally buying an exotic slave.





	

Trade  
Kitty Fisher

 

The barbarian was dressed in the finest excesses of up-market incivility. A wolf pelt, all silver and darkest black, was slung around his shoulders, adding to their already imposing mass. The rest of his body was clad in skins – or simply skin. Modesty was clearly something the man cared little for. With a body of quite such impressive proportions, there was little reason for him to be concerned; the muscles rippling as he pointed to something at the far end of the market were enough to take away any possible hubris from the stretches of pale, bared flesh.

His sword helped too. Thick and long, and probably as well used as his other sword, the one currently making his breeches an object of sly interest for many of the passers-by. The professionals, both in bed and in assessing human-flesh as a commodity, smiled – the amateurs blushed, and sighed.

Alexander was neither, and he looked away from the barbarian. After all had no real interest in the goings-on around him. There was, remarkably, a certain freedom in slavery. Nice to know there was at least the one.

He licked his dry lips, and leaned back against the pillar, his manacles clinking softly as he shifted. It was a sunny day. It was always sunny. Rumour purported that it rained in the winter months, but Alexander had only been here a few weeks, and none of those out of any willingness. 

He leant his head back and stared at the sky. Clear, blue, dusted with sheer clouds, it arched above the open market like a huge banner. Alexander smiled at it, then smiled again, doubting his own sanity without much care at all.

Sighing, he looked back at the crowd, seeing above their heads from his invidious position on a selling platform. Filth and riches, jewels and rags, all rubbing shoulders, all avid for the spectacle of those worse off than themselves. The most wealthy were unlikely to see the slaves quite so clearly. To them slaves were little more than a new workhorse, or a new piece of furniture. Alexander was certain of this. He had owned enough himself in his time.

Strange how manacles gave a different inflection to the whole issue of ownership.

But the barbarian was at least good to look at. Very different from the usual merchants and veiled ladies and leathery-skinned overseers who had passed through the market since it opened at dawn. Alexander wondered what the man was after. If anything. He was probably looking for six camels and a water-buffalo and had wandered into the wrong part of the market by mistake. Or he wanted a shirt. Perhaps the nights got chilly when you wore a few strips of leather and a wolf skin.

Not that he looked chilly. He looked warm. He was also looking directly into Alexander’s eyes.

Close to being disconcerted, Alexander shifted his weight from one leg to the other, and stared back. Haughty was easy enough. Even if the grime took away a degree of effect. Oh, and the manacles too. And possibly the bruising. Blowing hard through his nose, he lifted his chin and let his gaze wander past the barbarian’s. Up, up, to stare at the sky. Blue as the glass he’d once drunk his wine from. Blue as…

“Who’s the seller here?”

The voice was strong, peremptory. Alexander blinked at the sky and looked down. The barbarian was standing directly in front of him. Frowning, at him. Alexander straightened, suddenly curious. Perhaps he needed someone to comb his wolf-skins. Or to sharpen his sword. Though which sword was in itself an interesting question. Alexander rubbed his cheek on his shoulder and waited.

The barbarian wasn’t as patient. “Hey! Shop!”

Asad, the trader, the slaver, the ugly, walked to the front of the platform. He was a vile toad of a man, fat, crepuscular, stingy with his stock and greedy with his prices. He didn’t like slaves who spoke back, and he certainly had no affection for hairless freaks who were unaccountably difficult to find a buyer for. Not that any of that broke Alexander’s heart. He’d have been quite happy if Asad had dropped down dead on the spot. Might even have assisted him on his way, given free arms, a knife and a fast horse saddled and waiting. He could even have done without the horse. Come to that, his hands would work as well as a knife. He sighed. Even the thought was pleasing.

He flinched back into reality as Asad spoke. “This is my stall and these are my wares, good outlander. How can the meagreness of my stock be of interest to one as esteemed as yourself?”

Alexander ground his teeth. With such useless patter it was a wonder Asad ever sold anything.

“How much is he?”

“He? There are five male slaves amongst my goods, good sir.” He stood, bent slightly forward, stroking the leather flail he carried on all occasions and probably slept with. Then he gestured around him. “See, five of the best and strongest workers on sale here today.”

Maybe once they had been. But age was creeping up on three of them and the other two were half-dead from their capture. Time spent in Asad’s tender care hadn’t improved any of them. All the women and girls had been sold, along with most of the men, the previous month in Antioch. Alexander shouldn’t have kneed his potential buyer in the groin, but he hadn’t wanted to be sold to a wall-eyed mongrel with breath like a donkey’s and the cleanliness of a goat. Not that the oaf was buying for himself – but the journey home looked to be a long and roundabout one, and his knee had jerked before he had a chance to think about it.

Over the next week Asad had been careful to make him reconsider both the lack of thought and the stupidity of the deed.

“This one. The one I’m pointing at.” The barbarian wiggled his pointing hand, and sunlight danced on the jewels encircling his long fingers, the rubies shining like wet blood, the emeralds like ice. He shifted his other hand onto his sword and the heavy weight of his furs fell back. He smiled tightly. “The one with your boot prints on his ribs.”

“I…” Asad gathered his wits; though it didn’t take long, it still demanded a heartbeat’s more patience than the barbarian possessed.

“How much?”

The mere mention of money acted as a goad to the slaver’s tongue. “He is precious, valuable, lord outlander.”

“And I’m the Emperor of Rome.”

Alexander looked at him. Checking, just to be certain. But the barbarian was just that – a barbarian. Not an emperor in disguise - not either of them. 

“But he is! He can read and write, and he is very exotic…” With a wriggle of eyebrows, innuendo was slung like dung into the conversation.

“Exotic?”

“He is hairless, completely.”

“So I see, but how is that exotic when all it takes is a blade?”

“He is naturally so; by some miracle no blade is needed. Just like a boy... Very unusual, and very expensive – and he is from Crete. You may have heard how perverse and skilled the Greek whores are? Well, Cretan ones are even better. He comes from the King’s own bed.”

The barbarian grinned, suddenly seeming younger, though no less dangerous. “Ah, so now I understand.” The slaver nodded happily. Alexander closed his eyes.

And snapped them open as Asad cracked the flail across his shoulder. 

“My apologies, this one likes to think he’s above being sold.” He turned to his slave. “Keep your eyes open when someone’s inspecting you, filth!” 

As Asad lifted his arm again, Alexander could see another blow coming – but it didn’t fall. The barbarian was there, holding Asad’s brawny arm, and it was as if that strength and muscle were nonexistent. With a flash of teeth, in a grin that was perfectly without amusement, the outlander only slowly let go. “Don’t hit him again. I don’t like my goods soiled too much before I own them.”

Skin stinging, Alexander swallowed. The big man was standing so close. He smelled of incense and lemons, of leather and clean sweat. With a slight swirl of unsteadiness the world tilted, then righted as the man touched his face. The fingers hardly brushed his skin, the gesture delicate, almost gentle. It was shaming to be so unmanned by such a simple thing, but Alexander turned his face away, and against every piece of better judgement in his possession, wished that this man had coin enough to buy him.

“Are you a whore?” A finger stroked the metal collar that banded his neck.

Curious that he should care - unless it was skill he wanted - Alexander looked at him, and slowly shook his head. He didn’t trust his voice.

“Not even from the Cretan king’s bedchamber?” Ah, that was amusement.

“Not as such…” There, his voice did still work. He shifted against the wooden pillar. The chains rattled.

“Slaver, I want to know his price.”

“Yes, lord, and see how strong he is, how perfectly formed…” Alexander shivered as a fat, obscene touch stroked his naked skin. Ah, gods, he had forgotten what it was like to be ashamed. He broke away from the barbarian’s intent gaze and stared at the sky, hoping the slaver wouldn’t demand anything more intimate. “He’s clean, no disease, and if you want him as a bed-warmer, he won’t take much taming.”

“I thought you said he was a whore? Why would a whore require taming before I take him to bed?”

“Er…” Asad licked his lips. He had the intelligence of a sand lizard being stepped on by a camel. “I…”

“No matter. Name your price.”

Asad did. “Ten gold pieces.”

The small crowd murmured critically. Every one of them, even the poorest hag, knew better than the stranger how to buy in this market. Yesterday the price had only been five gold pieces.

“He should have the skills of Helen of Troy for that!”

“His rarity makes the price, lord.” If Asad bowed any faster his head would fall off.

“Four.”

“Eight.”

“Four and a half.”

“Six.”

“Five.”

“Done.”

The crowd approved. Alexander blinked. The barbarian smiled straight into his eyes as he spoke. “Unchain him.” He was fishing around inside the skins that almost covered his chest. After a moment he brought out a handful of gold. Asad hadn’t moved. “Well, get on with it!”

“Yes, yes, lord, patience, please…” The keys were on leather straps at his waist, he hurriedly slipped one off its loop and reached up to unlock the metal bands. Alexander hissed softly as his arms fell to his sides. Feeling would take a while to come back; it always did. Unsteady, he leant back, wanting strength and balance, to be able to assess the change in his circumstances quickly, but all he could think about was the blissfulness of no metal chaining his arms, and the green, steady gaze of the stranger who now owned him.

The money changed hands with a chink and the warm gleam of gold. Five pieces. The stranger had been cheated. Maybe he robbed the innocent and the money was easily come by. Or maybe he actually was an emperor in disguise. Or a god stepped down from the heavens for a day of philandering.

Though that would mean he was the philanderee…

Alexander wondered which of the Fates was laughing.

“Does he have any belongings?”

“None, your magnificence.” Asad had pocketed the gold away somewhere safe. He was smiling.

“Well, he can’t come with me naked. Find him a tunic or something.”

With a clap of his hands, Asad called one of his men and issued a quick order. In a few seconds the man came running back with what appeared to be a rag in his hand. He passed it to the barbarian, who scowled menacingly. “What’s this?”

“A tunic. It’s all we have, we are but poor traders, your lordship…”

A snort of laughter answered that. Turning to face his purchase, he spoke softly, gently. “Can you raise your arms?”

Alexander considered it. He bit his lip, hard, and tried. It was enough, and the big, outrageously barbaric stranger gently helped him into the stained and worn slip of cloth, while the slaver, with his civilised accent and oiled beard, watched through greedy eyes.

As garments went, it left a large amount to be desired. It did not cover his body in anything more than a rudimentary way. Not that he really cared. Alexander pushed the cloth down, relieved that it at least covered him, both front and back, as long as he refrained from bending over, or dancing with abandon – both things he thought manageable. Just. And he had been naked for a long time now, so being dressed at all should be a thing of great delight. It was, in a way. Leaving the trader and all his clan, belongings and slaves was more of a joy.

But all of it was beyond true examination. For if he thought about all he had lost, and all he had become, then the succession of days yet in front of him would seem empty beyond enduring. And he would endure. There was hope to be found, somewhere. And a barbarian to deal with now.

Alexander wondered if he should be afraid. 

He looked up, and a hand was beckoning imperiously. There were steps, and he found himself led down them like a child. He could walk, a feat in itself. As he reached the packed earthen ground he straightened, and turning, spat neatly at Asad’s feet.

As a gesture it was far less emphatic than a knife, but pleasant nonetheless.

The man who owned him was walking away, ignoring both the stream of invective that was being hurled after them and the laughter of their audience. Ah, gods, the man who owned him. What a strange world it was. But he was alive, he could walk and Asad was gone from his life. Things could be worse. Shuffling along, one arm wrapped around his ribs, following in the striding footsteps of the stranger, Alexander considered the day well spent. As long as he could remain upright to the end of it, he’d be fine.

He would. See? Step after step. One bare foot on the filthy ground, then another. He almost stumbled on a cabbage leaf, but held himself up. Still walking. Still in sight of the magnificent animal who had bought him. Paid so much, too. Though at this rate he’d want his money back. Useless slave. Can’t run, can’t dance. Why should he be dancing anyway? The thought was there, then gone, without consequence.

He made it to the edge of the market, to where the poorest traders had their goods on cloths spread on the ground. Cardamoms in a small golden heap, a few glass discs that were threaded into children’s bracelets, small lamps, a tangle of old fabric. Doggedly walking on, his eyes catalogued the wares, distantly. The statue of Amun was a fake. The bowl of blue beads were probably all real. He hesitated as the colours ran, the world spinning suddenly into lapis and gold.

Too little food, not enough water. Maybe Asad had stolen his strength along with his freedom. He started to fall as the sky turned above him. But instead of the hard earth, he fell into warm arms, and the softness of skin and wolf pelt.

Kneeling, grounded, Alexander sighed.

“Shall I carry you?”

So he could still glare. It surprised them both, but was heartening.

“Come.” A hand under his arm, and a upward shift of muscle and they were both standing. Gods, but the barbarian was strong.

A row of old men squatting in the shade of a weedy cypress were staring. Alexander ignored them. “Thank you.”

He felt the slight start of surprise, and turned as the stranger laughed. “So polite.”

“You saved me from the cretinous piece of offal who owned me.”

“I didn’t free you.”

“No.” Nice to have the obvious pointed out. With difficulty Alexander refrained from thanking the man again. He wasn’t sure if irony would survive the translation. Not that the man spoke with an accent. But he had to be from somewhere distant, somewhere northern, perhaps the forests of Germania where they bred them big and maybe more gentle than rumour allowed.

“Come on.”

Alexander licked his dry lips and stood straight. There, it wasn’t as difficult as it looked. “Where to?”

“My camp is just beyond the city walls.”

“It’s a lovely day for a stroll.”

“Yes, it is.”

See? The irony was lost. Alexander sighed, and began to walk. It was meant to be easy, after all, even babies managed it eventually. But everything would insist on shimmering, the world around him seemingly less substantial than a mirage. 

He was frowning at a stone in his path, curious to know if was a pebble or a rock, when he felt himself picked up. Not prettily. Just lifted and tossed over a wide shoulder, with a face full of wolf fur and the world turned to bright-rippled darkness as his body reflected on every single bruise and ache. He gasped, and tried to protest, but his tunic began slipping over his shoulders and a hand settled on his naked thigh, stilling him as he twisted. At least his face was hidden. As the big man started walking, Alexander panted into the furs – and marvelled that he still had dignity to lose.

**

“Are you all right?”

Still breathless from his collision with the ground, Alexander shifted his head and looked at the speaker. After a moment of careful assessment, he nodded. 

“Carrying you was easier than watching you walk.” The barbarian squatted down and inspected him carefully. Eyeing up his worth, no doubt. “Can you ride?”

Thoroughbreds, race horses, camels, anything. Alexander nodded.

“That’ll help.” The words were accompanied by a wide smile. “I won’t have to tie you to the saddle.” 

Was that a glint of amusement? Perhaps not. 

Alexander glanced around, squinting into the brightness. The city wall was to their right, and he was lying in shade cast by a large blue tent. Four horses were tethered close by. His owner was still watching him.

Swallowing dryly, Alexander knew he was parched. He considered the calm face, the cool eyes, and risked asking. “May I…” He broke off, his throat tight and dry, the words choking in his mouth. He tried again. “Water, please?” With Asad, politeness had made no difference at all, but with this strange man? Alexander hoped. 

“Of course.” Shaking his head, the man stood, and in a swirl of fur and skin and fetched a water-bottle. He knelt back, sighing - seemingly at himself - and poured water into a beaker. Edging closer he held it ready. “Here, sit up…”

Oh, such an easy command. Alexander tried. His age felt closer to fifty than the twenty-eight years he had lived. He tried again, and this time a hand was under his back. A strong, warm hand, lifting him. The water was held to his mouth, and he drank. He felt the cool liquid trickle through his dry, sore throat, felt it settle in his empty belly. Closing his eyes, he steadied himself, holding gently to one solid wrist, and swallowed more, gulping it down, greedy.

Suddenly the flask was eased away. “Don’t, you’ll make yourself ill.”

Panting, Alexander wiped his mouth. “Someone else got there before me.”

A pause, and then he laughed softly in wry amusement. “You’re not the usual sort of slave.” The barbarian’s gaze skimmed up and down his property.

A compliment? A warning that the next town they came to he was back on the market? Or maybe the stranger had believed the slaver’s tales of exotic sexuality. Alexander bit his lip and, carefully ignoring the fact he was half-naked and not in the best situation for making demands, stated his case. “I don’t fuck goats.”

“Oh.”

“And I don’t let them fuck me.”

A pause that lasted four heartbeats. “I’m not a goat.”

Oh. Indeed. So that was how it was going to be. “I noticed.”

The barbarian took a deep, ragged breath, possibly of frustration, possibly amusement. “What’s your name?”

Another interesting question, though there would be no need of anything too elaborate. Even if he could recite his ancestors back ten generations, it wasn’t good to boast. “Alexander.”

“I am Kent.”

Short, hard, it sounded like a curse. Though it could mean anything in the barbarian’s own tongue. Primrose, maybe. Or Willow. It might even be easier to say than master. Or lord. Or whatever he would be required to address this man as. Was there a formal way to introduce a slave and its owner? Etiquette for the newly kidnapped and enslaved? Asad had required silence and obedience. This man would probably demand more.

“Kent.” The name sounded strange on his tongue, almost as if it should have been something other. Alexander nodded to himself. Then, though he knew it was quite mad, he simply looked up, as if meeting this person for the first time. “Hello.”

A shy smile, the humour returned. Alexander felt his stomach twist. It really had been too long since he’d eaten.

“Are you hungry?”

Oh, praise the gods, a clairvoyant too. But before he could say anything his stomach answered first. He held his hand to his belly, trying to still the noise. Just in case the clamouring was too subtle, he nodded too. “And… may I have more water?” 

“Here.” The beaker again. The water was blissfully cool. Alexander drank it down like a man sucking at nectar. This time he pushed it away himself, and found the strength to sit up alone and unaided. Putting the beaker by his side, he flexed his fingers, feeling the slight muscle-cramps that had nagged him for days begin to ease.

A long, ring-weighted finger pushed one hand into stillness, until it lay palm upwards. Then he did the same with the other, until both hands were displayed. Dispassionately, Alexander considered the view. His hands were not too bad, but his wrists were a mess.

“I’ll bandage these after you’ve washed. And the cuts on your back. The rest is just bruising, yes?” A hand skimmed face, chest, fingering his ribs in passing, but ignored the collar that galled his neck. 

“Yes.” There were no broken bones. Asad was careful enough, in his own way. Broken bones led to dead merchandise. Not profitable at all.

“I want to leave at first light.” It was a warning, though gently phrased.

Alexander took a long, shallow breath and looked up. “I’ll be fine.”

A nod in return. “Good. Now, food.” Lithe as a cat, the big man stood up, and returned only a moment later carrying something. He dropped it into Alexander’s hand. A fig. Dark purple, soft, perfect. Alexander felt his mouth begin to fill with saliva. “Eat it. I’ll cook.”

Bringing the fruit to his mouth, Alexander blinked hard. It was a fig, not his freedom. But now, at this moment? It was almost as good. He broke the skin open and smelled the sweet, earthy juices. Very slowly he brought it closer and took a small bite, his mouth filling with perfection. The fruit was gone all too soon. He sat, licking his fingers.

And looked up to see his owner staring, the look in the narrowed eyes a skewed reflection of his own hunger. 

Letting his hands fall into his lap, Alexander stared in return. After a moment he shrugged. “Thank you.”

“For the fig?”

Ah, well. So the barbarian was bright enough to know what he really meant. Though he had been very thankful for the fig too.

Stepping closer, one hand resting on his sword hilt, the barbarian frowned. “I couldn’t leave you there. I don’t know why.” 

“I’m not a good slave. At least I don’t think I am.”

“You’re new to this.”

Even though it wasn’t really a question, Alexander answered. “Yes.”

“And I’ve never been a slave owner. We’ll have to make up our own rules then.”

Sitting on a worn blanket, with a man he had only met through a twisted skein of fate, half-dead, less than optimistic, hungry and still thirsty, Alexander nodded. For a while at least he could cope. It was all so much better than it could have been. He remembered the buyer in Antioch, and shivered.

“Lie back, rest. Food won’t be long. After we’ve eaten and I’ve cleaned you up, you can sleep.”

“Here?”

“No, in the tent.”

Curling back into the blankets, Alexander let his eyes half-close. “Where will you sleep?”

“With you.” Of course.

**

Alexander dreamed of water. Of staring up into the deepest blue, the blue of sapphires set in gold, of lapis ground into paste and painted onto pale skin. Cocooned by the dream, by the dream of watery comfort, he moaned softly, for he knew the comfort was illusion. There were depths under him, the endless seas stretching down and down to Poseidon’s realm. He knew he was afraid, but somehow the fear was stripped from him, leaving only its shadow. He rocked, buffeted by tide and current, swept helplessly by the strength of the sea. Sleeping was easy here. And sleep was so close to death. And in death there was no pain, no care.

Was that not a wonderful thing? To drift slowly down, the water cool on his skin. Cold. And his lungs filling heavily…

No. He thought of breathing and began to choke.

No! Fighting for air, battling to swim upwards, to reach the surface to breathe, but he was weighted, dragged down, the pull merciless -

And he awoke; the sharpness of breath pouring into his lungs like a knife cutting through fruit. Life, here. He struggled for a moment, the sea too close, the sound of it clogging his ears, the feel of it tugging at his skin. Four breaths, then he knew. The sea was gone, and he was wrapped in a blanket, alive. Safe enough. For now.

Wiping his face, he felt a hand on his arm, and remembered he was not alone. Turning, he met concerned green eyes.

“You were dreaming.”

“Sorry.” Alexander shivered, listening still to the sea god’s roar of outrage as he was cheated of tribute.

“I wasn’t complaining, just telling you.”

“Oh.” As if there was any doubt. Carefully, Alexander controlled himself. The shivering stilled. He could feel the man lying close to him. There was bare skin. Excitement. He wondered if it was his task to do something about it.

“Go back to sleep.”

Blinking, Alexander half turned. He winced, hid the pain and turned again. Facing his owner, he lay still. “Do you want me?”

“Soon.”

“Not now?”

“Not while you’re still half dead.”

“I can…” Alexander reached out with his hand. He’d been beaten for denying one of his slavers this simple relief. Though it was all different now. “See?” And Alexander knew the barbarian saw, for he closed his eyes and gasped, his head falling back, his perfect face a mask of pleasure.

“Oh…”

“Yes.” Alexander nodded. Then bending his head forward, he kissed the broad chest. His hand moved skilfully, his touch delicate yet firm, fast, yet never too fast, until the solid body shuddered, and a hand almost crushed him to the broad chest as the barbarian came, his seed spilling hot and wet between them. 

Alexander sucked gently at a trickle of sweat. “Better?”

A sleepy nod, and the stranger was asleep. No not a stranger, not after that. Kent… Alexander turned onto his side. Just before falling into sleep he lifted his hand to his mouth and licked, tasting the sharpness of lemons.

**

They broke camp at dawn. A first Alexander did little of the work, by the tenth day he was fit enough to share, even if Kent still cooked, having found his slave’s culinary skills were akin to that of a date palm. The travelling itself was gruelling. Each morning, only an hour after dawn, the tent, the cooking utensils, their bedding were all packed and stowed on the shaggy-haired, ill-tempered horses that Kent used as pack-animals, and their small convoy was on the move. Alexander found himself getting used to sleeping the few short hours of night and rising to cook a small breakfast – something he was allowed to do, though as it involved little but herbs infused in water and dried meat, there was little to boast of – while Kent packed the tent. The barbarian had the strength of ten, and never seemed to tire, however he did sleep, and Alexander watched him sometimes in the shadowy secrecy of the pre-dawn light, trying to solve the riddle that was his owner.

Though he didn’t feel enslaved.

But he wasn’t free either. Not that he could have run, even if he’d wanted to, for their path seemed to lead away from the sea, away from anything he knew and deeper and deeper into the unknown. He had no money, and no means of obtaining any. He was at least now dressed in trousers, tunic and a wide scarf to protect his head and shoulders against the sun’s heat, but he was still barefoot. There was also the collar around his neck. Only a blacksmith could remove it. To anyone it marked him as slave. A slave alone was a runaway – and runaways who were caught did not live long.

So he wasn’t running. Even if he had been free, there was no life left anywhere he knew. Nothing there, in fact, except the possibility of an even more inventive death than the last one had been intended to be.

Instead of running, he found himself falling in with the rhythm of the days. The journey was begun in a sort of strange half-state. He carefully obeyed every command. His body, safe from beatings and starvation, slowly healed. With the healing came more awareness, of everything. Sometimes he wondered if it was just the release from hardship that made him so drawn to his owner, but at other times, he caught the barbarian staring at him, and knew that whatever he felt, it was returned in some way.

The miles passed, and the days slipped by companionably. Then, just as he was certain they would journey forever, Kent called a halt. Having ridden through a series of gentle foothills, they stopped in a fold of land that opened onto a plain. As places went it was nowhere, east of nothing. It was welcoming enough, with a stream that ran with clear, icy water - boding ill for warmth if they moved further east - grass for the horses, and enough game for themselves. The days were still very warm, and the ground underfoot was dry, cracked where it lay baking in the heat. The land around the stream was grassy, the water’s edge thick with rushes, and along it all ran a line of tall trees, their leaves dusty, as if rain had been a long time coming. 

In the heat of late afternoon, they unpacked. The day drifted away as their camp was set, the sun lowering as they finished. When the last horse was watered and fed, Alexander lifted his head to stare at the rose and amber sky, the evening breeze cool on his overheated skin.

Patting the beast’s neck, he walked forward, away from the orderly camp, the patches of grass soft and comforting under his bare feet. He paused by an outcrop of rocks, scenting the air, strangely content as he surveyed the view. More trees bordered their foothill, then the landscape dipped away into a plain that stretched towards distant hills. Poppies, both red and white, swayed in the grasses. Higher up there would probably be fields of them. Sighing, he rubbed a hand over his head and watched the sun, huge and gold, begin to set.

“We’ll stay here for a while.” The barbarian walked past him, heading for the trees.

“How long is a while?”

A shrug, and a comment tossed over one shoulder. “Until I decide to move on.”

Lord of all he surveys. Alexander shook his head, exasperation making him sharp. He called out, “So, you weren’t running from anything.”

Kent turned, green eyes startled. “No, what on earth made you think that?”

“The speed we travelled.”

“Oh. No…. There was just no reason to move slowly, and I don’t like to wait around.” Kent walked back the few paces, until he was standing facing his slave. “You look better.”

“I am.” Alexander nodded. “Apparently a fast cross-country march agrees with me.”

“We rode.”

“How could I forget. At least my thigh muscles have stopped complaining.”

“Oh …”

The barbarian actually looked abashed. This was idiotic. Alexander sighed and unwrapped the fabric from his neck, letting it fall around his shoulders. He scratched under the collar that chafed his neck. “I was fine after a few days, ignore me.”

“I’ve been preoccupied.” A hand reached out and touched him, stroking gently down his face. “At least the bruises are gone. I’m glad.”

“Asad could never see that his stock was worth more undamaged.” The touch was disconcerting, the comment more so. Alexander shifted away, making a show of re-wrapping his scarf. 

The barbarian narrowed his eyes. “You do know I won’t re-sell you.”

Alexander laughed, though without much humour. “Thank you, gracious master.”

“Stop! I don’t expect you to be happy.” Kent moved, his body blocking the sun; its light a nimbus around his silhouette. “But, please, don’t be so bitter.”

Alexander jerked his head up, staring at the kind, young face, seeing the dark hair curling around the high cheekbones, the silky waves blending with the silver and darkness of wolf, the brightness of dying sunlight. “If not bitter, what am I meant to be?”

“I don’t know.” Kent took a slow, single pace forward. “I don’t understand you, or this…”

Alexander straightened. He swallowed and looked into intent eyes as a large hand cupped his cheek. “When you do, let me know.” A thumb stroked over his skin. Again, and again. Alexander almost turned away, but in the end he found the strength to hold his ground.

“I didn’t believe about this, about your skin.”

Not goats again. “Why?”

“It seemed so unlikely.”

“It is. But it has been like this since I was a child.”

“As a whore you could have charged a fortune. I could sell you in Constantinople for treble what I paid for you. Your slaver was a fool.”

“He was.” Though the knowing gave little pleasure. Alexander forced himself to stay still under the touch. He was owned. He had nothing. Maybe the barbarian was a monster under the gentleness and the strength. The hand pulled him closer.

“Alexander, Alex, Xander, Lex.”

“No! Don’t. Please…”

The hand cupped his jaw, held him trapped. “You’ll beg for your name, but not your honour?”

“Yes.”

“Alexander, then?”

A nod. The other names brought memories he could live without. “Thank you.”

“So many thanks. Would you be so courteous if I sold you to a brothel?”

“No. I would curse you.”

“It would be my right to sell you if I wanted.”

Alexander looked away, but then a thumb traced over his lips, making him shiver. His stomach turned, and he couldn’t pretend it was from hunger. At least not for food. “You own me. I know that.”

“It hurts you so much to say it.”

“Yes.”

“I won’t sell you. I promise.”

The touch was so gentle. Alexander shrugged ruefully. If he had thought there was any likelihood, he would have know himself enchanted. Instead, he just knew himself enslaved.

He looked up, watching as a sudden frown pulled the dark brows together. Alexander shivered, waiting. But the moment held, and they stood, so close, thought suspended in a shimmer of unknowing, of uncertainty, as if they stood at the very centre of the world, its balance depending on this, on their singular awareness of each other. Almost as if a step either way would bring the sky falling down upon their heads and the earth rising up to swallow them. But neither of them moved apart, instead they just seemed to move together, and suddenly breath was mingling with breath and, with the sky a vast arc of gold above their heads, their lips met.

In a touch, all uncertainty was burned to ash. For the kiss was sweet; a kiss for lovers. 

Alexander swallowed when the warm lips parted, and he opened his own slowly to the questing tongue, closing his eyes as it slipped inside and the kiss became something deeper, something weighted with more than curiosity. Alexander wrapped his fingers in wolf-skin, pulling Kent towards him as he pressed forward. He wasn’t shy. He didn’t blush as the kiss deepened and he moaned, or as his own hardness pushed tight against the solidity of muscle. He couldn’t remember when he had last touched someone willingly. Or wanted this for no other reason than that of desire. Besides, this barbarian, this man who dressed in skins and who lived without any sophistication, kissed like a god. Venus in Mars’ body; heady as unwatered wine.

Stroking his hand under the pelt he found leather and pushed impatiently past it to skin. Warm and smooth, it shivered under his touch. He pushed deeper into the kiss, weaving tongue against tongue, pressing in, opening to exploration, giving and taking in equal measure, until the saffron sky was burning around them and the sun slipped past the horizon as suddenly as a quenched lamp.

Slowly, as if drugged, Kent pulled his mouth away. He hesitated, then with a soft, indistinguishable word bent again, kissing gently, the sound of skin against skin lushly erotic. Finally, he drew away and slowly unwound the fabric from around Alexander’s neck and shoulders, letting it fall to the ground.

Alexander sighed, and focused, seeing heavy-lidded eyes that seemed to define hunger. The sight made his heart race, for there was a sweetness in knowing that the need was weighed between them.

A hand slipped through his own, meshing their fingers as they walked back to the camp. The fire was bright, the crack and fall of burning wood loud in the silence.

A blanket was already spread on the ground, and they stood together, looking at each other with curiosity and desire. Alexander laid his hand, flat, on Kent’s chest, and silently asked a question. At the slight nod he pushed gently and followed Kent down, straddling his hips as he lay flat, the wolf-skin rippling. It unfastened with a brooch. The pin was stiff, but it gave in the end, and Alexander pushed the thick fur away, baring wide shoulders. He kissed one, pressing his lips to the smooth skin, then slowly straightened, sitting back on the narrow hips, his knees pressed tight to either side of the barbarian’s ribs. Kent was quite still, waiting, though he was breathing fast, his eyes bright.

Alexander bent forward and kissed him again, mouth to mouth. They were more practised this time. Delicately they licked and nibbled, gently teasing skin with skin and teeth and tongue. As hands slipped around him, Alexander moaned and let his weight fall as he straightened his legs and was wrapped close, groin to groin, rocked between cradling arms and thighs. He gasped as a hand came up to hold his head, stroking, mapping his skull, his skin, holding him tight as Kent invaded his mouth, licking, sucking his tongue, biting his lips.

It was too fast, too fast. Alexander shook his head and pushed back. Kent slowly released him; Alexander was panting as he sat up. About to undress himself, he stayed his movements as Kent sat as well, and, pushing Alexander’s hand away, tugged off the tunic himself. The barbarian growled at the pale, naked skin, and bent his head to kiss one dark nipple. Alexander groaned out loud as the teeth tugged, gently. Eyes half-closed, the evening breeze cool on his sweating skin, he reached for leather and began to peel away the layers of barbaric clothing. The lacings parted to show pale skin, licked by firelight into shadow-dusted bronze, every inch of it perfect. The clothing was tight as a second-skin, but it slowly gave, falling to the blankets. The breeches were impossible, and he was too impatient, to greedy, settling on opening them wide, tugging them down as far as he could.

The flat belly, fluttering with Kent’s uneven breaths, was warm, soft as Alexander kissed the small belly-button. With a cat-lick at the few soft, scattered hairs, he knelt back. Half-naked, his body bare to past his hip-bones, the barbarian looked wonderful, primal. Alexander felt giddy, his own body balanced on a knife-edge of need. Carefully, watching Kent’s eyes, he reached between leather and skin to where the barbarian’s cock lay trapped, its own thickness holding it fast. Kent jerked, and gasped at the first touch, the breath turning into whispered words that could have been prayers, or curses. Alexander reached deeper and tugged.

Blindly eager, panting, Kent reached and pushed his breeches down another inch. And his cock sprang free.

Perfect. Alexander wanted to purr. The thick, deeply veined shaft stood straight, its root buried in a nest of darkest curls, the wet-slicked head already pushed clear of the tight foreskin. Sliding down, kneeling between the widespread thighs, Alexander kissed again. A single kiss to the soft crown, a pearl of liquid rising up to meet his lips as he licked, swirling his tongue, pushing down with his lips, sucking hard. 

It was enough. Too much. Kent arched up, crying out, seed bursting thick and hot from his jerking cock. Moaning, Alexander swallowed quickly, but there was so much and it spilled from his wide-stretched mouth, smearing onto his chin, cooling as it dripped down to his neck.

When Kent stilled, Alexander slowly eased his mouth away. Kent shuddered, his cock jerking. Breathing hard, Alexander smiled, and licked it clean, neat as a cat, his tongue catching the stray pools that tangled in the dark pubic curls. A kiss to the softening length and he was pulled up into strong arms and kissed again, mouth to mouth. Need, a drum-beat that pulsed right to the tip of his own aching cock, he moaned, and opened wide, gasping as Kent sucked at his tongue, licking. It took a moment for Alexander to realise that the barbarian was tasting himself, licking the last vestiges of seed. Groaning, Alexander opened wider, tilting his head back as the tongue and lips and mouth worked their way down his chin and neck, his chest, travelling all the way to one nipple, where the mouth fixed and bit down hard. Alexander cried out. Before he even considered thought, his trousers were open and his cock was enfolded in a big palm. Shamelessly, he was swift as the barbarian. His body jerked awkwardly as he came, his seed spilling thickly on the pumping fist as the spasms ripped through him again and again.

They both stilled slowly. Kent’s fist relaxing, his fingers peeling away one by one. Alexander gulped for breath. Wide-eyed with something close to amazement, they stared at each other.

“That was…” The barbarian shrugged helplessly. He looked dazed. “It’s never…” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to do so much more.”

Alexander felt a shiver ripple up his spine. “Yes.”

“Next time?”

Alexander nodded. He swallowed, savouring the taste in his mouth. Leaning back, he shifted, and slowly they untangled themselves. The last of their clothing was stripped away and they lay naked together, curled up on the blanket, Kent’s belly and chest wrapped around Alexander’s back; the dim vestiges of firelight warm on their hot faces. 

They slept perhaps, though not for long, for the dusk was still heavy, the shadows stark against the dimming light when Alexander opened his eyes. He could taste salt and sweat, the musk of another man’s body. He smiled as the arm wrapped around his waist tightened. A sleepy voice whispered close to his ear, “Are you all right?”

Was he? Yes. Alexander pressed his face to a firm arm and nodded.

“Good.” Somehow, without Alexander really knowing how, they were both on their feet. For a moment he felt dizzy, then Kent held him close. “I want to wash – come with me to the water?”

“It’s dark.”

“We can take a lamp.”

“Right now? Just to be clean?”

“Yes.”

The man was cleaner than a Greek. Left standing he waited as Kent fetched a lamp, and then, crouching naked, lit it from the camp-fire. Alexander watched and wondered at himself, at what was happening. Then Kent smiled, and he no longer cared.

Together they walked to the stream. It flowed in swift little eddies, and there was a curve where the water was deepest, and the bank shallow and free of reeds. The lamp brought moths and night-creatures, so they hung it on a branch and stepped naked into the rippling water. The cold made Alexander gasp and shiver, but Kent just laughed and splashed him before wading in thigh deep and dowsing himself in great handfuls of night-silvered water. There were stones underfoot. Gingerly, Alexander waded across, wiping water from his eyes as he stood close.

It was rude to stare, but Alexander stared. And let the other man look his fill in return as the water slid and swept around their thighs, and the moths fluttered helplessly against the lamp. Alexander touched a lock of hair, letting a water droplet trickle onto his finger. It ran down over his palm and onto his wrist, joining a hundred others there. He licked his own skin, then pushed the lock back, tucking it behind one neat ear.

There were more droplets in Kent’s hair, and something that might have been happiness reflected in his eyes. Alexander felt his breath sucked away and shook his head. He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t.

But he did.

Kent nodded. 

Ah, well. Maybe that was enough. Serenely, Alexander lifted water into his cupped hands, letting it trickle down onto the broad chest. He did it again, cleaning the sweat and dust – and the sticky remains of their lovemaking. Together they ducked under the water, and stood up gasping, water cascading around them as they washed each other, warming again as they moved, as they touched. After a while both their movements slowed, became more intent. When his eyes met Kent’s, Alexander knew that the confusion and desire that he saw there was marked as clearly in his own.

How could he want this man again, so soon? He didn’t know. But the wanting was unmistakeable. When Kent touched him with water-chilled hands and kissed him again, his cock rose hard between them. And Alexander felt Kent’s lift in response.

“Again?”

“Again.” Alexander agreed. 

Hungry, he buried his face in the strong neck and kissed muscle and skin. He groaned as big hands cupped his buttocks and pulled him close. Madness – there was no other word for how he felt. For this reaction. He pushed his hands through Kent’s wet hair, but he didn’t find any horns, and he knew that his feet were just feet, not Pan’s cloven hooves. But… there was something. Maybe simply his own need. His own response to kindness. And that thought made him doubt.

But Kent growled something, and suddenly he was lifted out of the water. “You think too much.”

Gasping, Alexander wrapped his thighs around the narrow hips and nodded. The big hands cupping his buttocks slid further down, and delicate fingertips stroked up and down his cleft, teasing the tight opening. He felt himself shudder, thoughts flying to the winds. Kent lifted his face, and Alexander leant into another kiss. It was slow and intense, until both of them were scarcely breathing. Held easily, with no need to hold on, he combed his fingers through the long hair, let his nails scrape gently at the back of Kent’s neck as his tongue teased in and out of the welcoming, warm mouth. But then a finger slowly pressed past the tight ring of muscle, and slipped into his body. He stilled, breaking the kiss, and squeezed. He smiled as Kent gasped.

“Gods…”

“And no, I was still not a whore.” Alexander grinned.

“Just skilled?”

“A perfectionist…”

“I’ll sacrifice to my gods later.”

“Not now?”

“Oh, no.”

“Good.” Alexander squeezed again. It had been a long time, but his body remembered. He leant back into a kiss, holding onto the broad shoulders, hearing nothing but the splash of river-water as it broke against Kent’s thighs, and the soft, suppressed moans that were as needy as his own.

Kent pulled away, panting. He licked his lips. “I want you.”

Three words and he was suddenly bereft of speech. Alexander nodded.

Turning, still holding Alexander wrapped around him, Kent waded out of the water and climbed the shallow bank. There was soft grass under the trees. Close by where the lamp cast a bright circle, he knelt, but didn’t let go. With one hand propping Alexander’s back, the other cupped under him, the ringless middle finger still deep, he settled back. And began to slowly finger-fuck. The barbarian was smiling again. The leaves rustled in the slight, night-time breeze, and Alexander tried to smile back, but his face felt as if it was no longer his own, his facial muscles trapped in a mask of greed. He groaned, and lifted his head.

Kent nuzzled his cheek. “Like this?”

Alexander nodded. Like this. Like anything. He was lifted and the finger slipped away – its length replaced by the wide cock-head. He swallowed. It had been a long time.

“We can wait?”

“No.” Alexander shook his head slowly. “No. Like this. Now.”

Spitting into his hand, Kent fisted it onto his cock, slicking saliva onto the thick, veiny length. Alexander swallowed, dry-mouthed. His doubts flew away and he felt his body relax, just from watching, though in truth the sight was as erotic as any he had ever seen. He groaned as Kent worked his fist slowly upwards, and more liquid pooled into the wide slit. He rubbed it on his hand, then reached between Alexander’s outstretched thighs and pushed his slippery fingers into the tight hole. One push that left Alexander gasping, then the touch was gone as strong hands were lifting him, and the iron-hard length of cock pushed eagerly at his flesh, finding an entrance, demanding admittance. It hurt, this act. The pain was sharp and strong and he cried out as he was opened, as the thick solidity pressed on and in, and his body parted.

His fingers were claws, dug hard into strong shoulders. But Kent held still, held him gently. After a while Alexander stopped sweating, and found the will-power to nod. And another inch slid inside. He prayed to his own gods then, and panted as his body pulsed with discomfort, and need, and a wantonness that made him want to sit down hard and damn the consequences.

And the next inch. This one easier. Far easier. He lifted his face, staring up at the night, filtered through leaves. There was pleasure, soon. He knew it was there. His body was unpractised, but it remembered, the pleasure if not the pain. He gasped as Kent lifted him, almost slipping free but instead diving deeper, the stretch hard and deep. His body arched back, his spine bent, held up by a hand between his shoulder-blades. Panting as if breathing after a long run, he moaned again, not caring, wanting only the fullness, the completeness. This time the moan was trapped into Kent’s mouth as he was brought up into a kiss, and at the same time the hands under him slipped away, and his own weight pushed his body down.

Time held. In that swift, endless moment he felt the world still. Nothing existed outside the circle of lamplight, outside the circling arms that held him. Outside the cock that speared him, that pulsed hard, burning deep in his belly.

With a slight tilt of his hips, Kent made him groan. But his own cock, limp and soft between them, curled and began to lift, swiftly hardening as the tilt was repeated. Alexander opened his eyes, squeezed, and watched Kent’s face as the pleasure hit. Sweet revenge. He lifted then, using his thigh muscles to raise himself, hissing softly as his body slowly responded, easing and stretching. Staring into Kent’s eyes he lowered himself, taking the thickness, the length so deep. Settling in the curve of spread thighs, rocking slowly until green darkened to slate, and big hands gripped his hips.

Transfixed by the mystery, they moved as one, the pleasure something tangible, weaving around them along with the shadows. There was no awkwardness – a rhythm was found as if they had made love with each other forever. 

After the speed of their first time, this was slow. Breathing together, they kissed, and touched, and all the while Kent’s hard length pushed deep. Until with each press of body to body Alexander felt the tight nudge of hard balls at his buttocks, and his own cock was weeping, slicking Kent’s belly as the barbarian sat, his crossed legs folded, his calves skimming skin at every downward press of Alexander’s sweat-slippery body.

When they were both very near, when the sweetness turned to something sharper, something more imperative, Alexander was pulled in close, then with a tilt of muscle he was on his back, with Kent’s body heavy above him. The penetration was no deeper, but it was different. As was the urgency. Fast, relentless, each stroke long and angled high. In no time Alexander was clawing at the broad back, urging him on, goading him. Hunched, Kent slid his hands under Alexander’s thighs and curled him backwards. Grunting, he began to pump his hips, the wet sounds of flesh on flesh loud in the still night. 

His face twisted as if with pain, Kent suddenly stilled, and gasping, eyes wide in surprise, came. He ground his cock deep, his jewelled fingers ripping at the grass as he came, his shoulders hunched, his back bent into a rippling arch of muscle and bone. Alexander was a breath behind him, and he screamed as his own pleasure hit, the waves of it blurring the night, frightening in their wild intensity. 

He quietened slowly. Kent was still arched over him, sweat dripping from his hair. Alexander blinked. And reached up to touch the hot face.

It was all very quiet as the night settled around them.

“Did I die?”

Alexander shook his head. “No, nor I.”

“It was close.”

“Yes.”

There was sweat in his eyes. Alexander wiped his face on the back of his hand. Their eyes met, and very slowly Kent moved, pulling his cock from the tight embrace of Alexander’s body. Gasping, Alexander held still until the pain passed.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t…”

Kent lay next to him. Held him. Nuzzled his cheek. “We need to wash again…”

“Not yet.” Alexander was still breathless. His whole body burned. His mind was alight with the sweetness of what they had just done.

“No.” Kent shifted, holding him gently, stroking one hand against his arm. “I’ll carry you back to the camp.”

“In a while.”

Kent just nodded, and, resting his head on Alexander’s shoulder, closed his eyes.

Alexander blinked up into the night, staring into the dark sky, seeing thousands of stars like fireflies, dancing above them.

**

For the first time, they didn’t move on immediately. Which was just as well, for Alexander knew he couldn’t ride. His body had loved the passion of their joining, but the new bruises, both outside and in, would take a few days to mend.

After the speed of their journey, and after everything that had happened before it, being at rest was like a balm. Alexander thought that it suited Kent as well. The barbarian spent his days hunting, trapping the plentiful small game. There were also roots in abundance, and Alexander found himself learning new skills, even that of how to cook. He found that the barbarian liked to touch, sometimes just brief caresses in passing, but more often a touch was a prelude to hours spent in the shade of the tent.

Alexander also discovered why the barbarian often smelled of lemons, for Kent carried with him a small sack of the dried fruit, a sliver of which he liked to chew after a meal. In the evenings, sitting companionably by the fire, Kent shared with him the sugared dates he’d hoarded all the way from Constantinople and the lemons that tasted so perfectly sharp and fresh. The nights Alexander spent wrapped in Kent’s arms, waking only with the dawn, and the beginnings of the new day.

Despite the collar that banded his neck, Alexander was happier than he could ever remember being.

On the evening of the fourth day, content as a basking lizard, Alexander sat next to Kent and watched the sun set. He wrapped his arms around his knees and drew a pattern with his finger on Kent’s arm. The leather clothing and wolf-skin had remained in the tent, all Kent wore was a pair of old cotton trousers. His feet were bare as Alexander’s, though he kept his rings on his fingers, and he wore an earring dangling from his left ear. He was perfectly beautiful, and Alexander had to stop himself from staring. Given the chance he would have sat and looked at his lover all day, absorbing his features, memorising them – along with the happiness that seemed to shine from his skin.

Kent turned slightly, and looked sideways. “Where are you from?”

“Is that what you were thinking about?”

“Yes.”

“I’m from Crete, Asad told you some truth.”

“The King’s paramour?”

Alexander hesitated, but he knew he wouldn’t lie. “No. But my father is the king’s chief advisor.”

Kent raised an eyebrow. “No wonder you have such perfect manners.”

“I was very well schooled.”

Narrowing his eyes, Kent seemed to catch an undercurrent Alexander had not even been aware of. “Schooled?”

Silently, Alexander faced his memories, and found they had little sting. “My father was severe. And he hated me.”

Shaking his head, Kent looked back at the horizon. “I can’t imagine that. My father loved me, as did my mother.” He glimpsed Alexander’s look and nodded. “Yes, they are both dead. Two years ago our farm was overrun by mercenaries. I wasn’t there.”

“And you blame yourself? Surely, if you’d been there, you might have died too.”

“But I might not.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Still, it is done. I have mourned. And now I travel.”

“Yet you still have a home?”

“Yes. North of here. If we travel on, we come to a sea. From there we can take ship and the miles will pass far more easily.”

We. Alexander shivered. Was that meant? Was he to travel to the cold Northern lands as a slave? He wrapped his arms more tightly around his knees. “Who runs your farm?”

“A friend and his wife.” He turned again. “I thought I loved her, but once they were wed, I knew I had only wanted her.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Beautiful.”

“Oh.”

“This journey has taught me so much. I thought my heart was broken, but instead it was only my pride.” He shook his head, then smiled. “And what about you? What women have you loved? There must have been hundreds in that palace.”

“No. I loved my mother, though she died a long time ago.” Alexander shivered. “My father hated her too – though he confused the emotion with love.”

“I don’t think I like your father.”

Alexander laughed wryly. “You show great perception.”

They stayed in silence for a while, then Kent, hesitating, looked towards his companion. “Alexander, tell me, why do you dream of drowning?”

Startled, Alexander looked into Kent’s eyes. “How do you know?”

“You talk during your nightmares.”

“Oh.” It was all so hard to remember, as if it had happened to someone else. Like the fine sheets and the slaves, the gold and the palaces. “I was inconvenient. And I was a fool. Yes, a woman was involved, and like an innocent I believed her every word. She led me into a trap. My father bribed some men to kill me, preferably without it seeming as if I had been murdered. They drugged me, and took me in a ship. When we were far out at sea, they hammered a hole in her timbers. I was still half-dead from the drug, but they must have been taken onto another craft, for when I finally awoke I was alone.”

“And not sinking.”

“No. For some reason the ship stayed buoyant for a long time. I tried as best I could to make for shore – but I failed. A storm came up and she sank, and I, for some reason the Fates have yet to show me, lived.”

“Where did Asad find you?”

“On the beach. He must have thought I was a gift.” Alexander shook his head. “And as you paid so much for me, I suppose I was.”

“I’d have paid more. I wanted you from the moment I caught sight of you across that terrible market.”

“Why?” The bond had been there from the beginning; the strangeness of it something Alexander never failed to wonder at.

“I don’t know.” Kent shrugged and turned, taking one of Alexander’s hands in his own. “You looked so unlike a slave – despite the bruises and the chains.”

“And this?” Alexander touched the metal collar with his other hand. It was warm from his skin. It was always warm.

“Yes, even despite that.”

Alexander waited, but nothing was said. Letting his gaze fall, he stared at the dust around his toes as the knot in his gut slowly loosened. “I am glad that you bought me.” And he was. This was better than Asad, better than any slavery Alexander could imagine. Though it was still slavery. And he had foolishly hoped… for something that clearly was not going to happen.

“Good.” Kent smiled, oblivious. “It was one of my better days.” He grinned suddenly and pushed Alexander back onto the grass, sliding one hand under his tunic. “You’ll like the farm, and it isn’t as cold there as you’d think.”

“Kent, you dress in leather and furs. I don’t think you feel either heat or cold.”

“Maybe not.” A slip of a shrug. “But I can make you furs, and you’ll never be chilled.”

“Because you’ll warm me?”

“Of course.” Kent grinned back at him.

The hand found a hard nipple, and stroked. Alexander stilled. “Oh, that’s good.”

“You’re so sensitive.” The finger slowed, and started to circle. “I love watching you.”

“Mmm.” A sharp squeeze of fingers and Alexander gasped. As he opened his mouth, he felt Kent’s lips close on his own. Growling, Alexander reached up and stroked his hand down the long back, slowly massaging, tracing the rope of spine, and curve of ribs.

Suddenly, Kent stilled, and lifted his head. Then Alexander heard the sound too. He got to his feet just after Kent. Straightening his tunic, Alexander asked softly, “What is it?”

“Horses. Not many.”

Alexander stood next to him, waiting, as the first horse emerged from the trees. It was ridden by a thin man, who was too tall for the height of his mount. His feet dangled preposterously, and he was beating the poor beast with a switch.

“Greetings, fellow travellers!” the man bellowed as he approached. He was smiling at both of them, though particularly at Alexander, who at least was dressed. In only breeches, Kent looked far more like the servant and he the master. Following behind the stranger were four pack-ponies, each of them laden, and at the rear of the small caravan rode a solitary man, his robes pulled over his face, his sword on view at his side, its handle much worn by use.

“Hello.” Kent nodded, his arms crossed over his bare chest.

“I saw your fire, and wondered if we might share its warmth on such a cool night. Besides, I hear there are violent bandits around here and there is always safety in numbers.” He smiled unctuously at Alexander, then, as he glimpsed the slave collar, immediately turned his dubious charms towards Kent. His confidence was clearly shaken though, for his smile racked down a notch, as if the notorious bandits might be closer than he expected.

“We’ve been here a while and seen no one.”

A quick glance dismissed their tent and all their belongings. “Perhaps the ruffians didn’t consider you rich enough pickings. I, however have all this.” He gestured at the bulging packs that were strapped to his ponies’ backs. “I am a far more likely target.”

“Maybe.” Kent shrugged. “But you are welcome to share our fire; there are fowl roasting as we speak, and we would be most happy to share them as well.”

“And I have wine!” Dismounting, the man came close. He was taller than Kent, and thin, his gangling limbs awkward.

“My name is Demetrious, and you, kind sir?”

“I am Kent and this is Alexander.”

“He’s your slave.”

Kent hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”

“What would we do without them?” Demetrious turned to his own companion. “Yannis, get the beasts unloaded for the night.”

“I thought he was your guard.”

“He is. But he’s a slave too. Aren’t you, Yannis?”

“Yes, master.” The man - the slave - was already dismounted, leading the horses to the river. His robes were dusty, worn, and much patched.

Demetrious laughed. “He’s no company, I can tell you. He has no conversation and the manners of a pig.”

Kent took a deep breath. “Come and sit, the food will be ready.” He started to walk, and Demetrious followed him, talking all the while. Alexander turned instead to the river, and started to walk towards the other slave. But the trader must have seen him for he called out, “Leave him be. The lazy bastard knows what to do.”

Alexander calmly turned on his heel and walked back. He kept his face still – a lifetime of court politics had left him more than skilled at dissembling. Besides, Demetrious was already walking away, heading towards the fire and food. Alexander winked at his own master and followed.

While the two owners were sat talking, a few flat rounds of bread baking over the flames, Alexander went and sat with the other slave, far enough away not to be noticed, close enough to be ready if needed. Uneasy, he listened.

“Tell me Demetrious, what do you trade in?”

“Anything. You know, I’ve travelled tens of thousands of miles and sold to almost every nation in the civilised world. There is profit enough for any man, if you have a nose for it.”

“So what’s best?”

“Whatever anyone will buy. But the most profit is in men. The mines are always hungry.”

“You’re a slaver?”

“Sometimes. I also trade in precious stones, or cloth, whatever I think I can sell at a profit. Every day is different, and there’s never a chance to get bored. Last month I went up towards Phasis and sold twenty men to the mines there. And now my packs are full of gew-gaws and fancy things that the women in the town make, nothing special but for some reason they’re much admired at home. I’ll be set up pretty well, I can tell you. Look, I’ll show you a sample.”

He rummaged inside his sash, and extracted a small box. He opened it and pulled out a delicate bracelet that sparkled in the flickering light. “They look quite like emeralds, eh? This would be worth a king’s ransom if they were, but sadly for me they are only some cheap stone that cuts well. Nice enough on a slim wrist, and I can sell it for ten times its cost to me.”

To Alexander they looked gaudy, and cheap as a feast-time gift. He turned to look at Kent, to share his amusement, but Kent had paled, and was leaning forward, one hand clutched to his chest.

Demetrious finally noticed that his audience was not listening. He frowned. “Are you all right?” He moved closer, the bracelet in his hand brushing against Kent’s skin as he reached out in concern.

Alexander was at his side. The barbarian was cold, sweating, his eyes glazed in pain. Alexander pulled him close, cradling the dark head as Kent groaned and toppled into his arms. “Trader, what have you done to him?”

“Me? Nothing!”

“He was fine, then… this.” Whatever this was. Magic perhaps. Alexander glared at their guest, and tried not to be afraid.

“I did nothing, just showed him this.” He held up the bracelet. Alexander felt the ripple of pain that ran unevenly through the body in his arms.

The bracelet. He turned to the trader and commanded. “Put it away.”

“What!”

Alexander cursed. “Put the bracelet away!”

“Oh.” Demetrious looked surprised, then did as he was asked, tucking the jewellery into its box, and the box into a hidden place within his sash.

Almost at once Kent began to breathe easily. Glaring, Alexander signed against the evil eye, and gasped as Demetrious slapped him hard across the face.

“Don’t you dare look at me like that! I did nothing – your master must just have eaten something that disagreed with him. There is nothing wrong with my stock.”

“Whatever you say.” Alexander didn’t care; he wiped his mouth on his hand and helped Kent to sit, marvelling that he looked as if nothing had happened. His colour was back to normal, his skin cool. He was as well as ever. Frowning, Alexander touched him. “Are you well, truly?”

“Yes.” Kent nodded, puzzlement making him frown. “I just felt faint.”

“No pain?”

“Nothing.” He stretched, his perfect body rippling with health. 

“Undoubtedly something you ate at noon – does your slave cook for you?”

Alexander stiffened, but Kent pressed a warning hand to his arm. “No, I cook for myself.”

“Very wise!”

“The meal is fine. Please, help yourself.” He gestured towards the food, then met Alexander’s eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Sure?”

“Yes, stop worrying. Take some bread and meat, enough for Yannis too.”

Alexander nodded, and obeyed. There wasn’t really anything else he could do.

After that, the meal was not really a success. The sun had set and a chill wind was coming in from the east. The roast fowl was fine enough, and the roots tasted better for being washed down with the wine, but Demetrious was seemingly intent on catching up with many nights without a peer to converse with. He talked constantly, mainly about himself, even with his mouth full – sometimes of both food and drink. As the light faded and Alexander lit the lamps, it was easy to see why the trader’s richly embroidered robe was stained; the spots probably marked his every meal for the past year.

Sitting with the silent Yannis, Alexander ate his own food and drank water – slaves did not, apparently, drink wine. He half listened to the conversation, half thought about Kent’s strange, sudden and so quickly finished illness. Perhaps he suffered from fits. Or perhaps there really was something in those green stones, something that sapped his strength and made him ill. He had looked as if he was dying. And the simple memory made Alexander cold inside. If and when would it happen again? And how many more of those jewels were there in the world?

He was picking at the last piece of roast meat when his name was called imperiously. Not by Kent.

Clenching his jaw he stood and, licking his fingers, walked to the fire. 

Demetrious picked at his teeth and spat something onto the ground. “Kent, take more wine, there is plenty.” He glanced idly at the slave. “Your master tells me he bought you in Edessa. I’ve been giving him the benefit of my experience. For a slave you’re far too cocky – I’ve told him to start breaking you, soon as possible.”

Was there a decent answer to that? Alexander simply glanced at Kent and, on seeing the wry amusement darting behind his eyes, bowed his head meekly. “Yes, sir.” If he could think of this as a game it would be easier. Just.

“You’re unbranded too, which is a crime waiting to happen. Anyone could steal and claim you. Ah, you don’t like that idea? Well, ask Yannis, the pain is very brief.” He smiled, and settling back on his elbow called his property to him. “Yannis, here!”

Like a well trained dog, he came. Demetrious flicked a glance at him. “Show these good people your face.”

Slowly, as if unwilling yet unable to say no, the silent man bared his head. 

Alexander heard Kent’s sharp intake of breath as his own mouth went dry. One whole side of the slave’s face was a scar; a huge brand in the shape of a quartered circle that ringed his cheek and jaw. It was deep, and Alexander couldn’t imagine the pain it must have caused.

“There, something obvious and unique. I designed that one myself, though I have others in my pack.” 

The thought was horrible. Alexander looked at the ground. With one hand he briefly touched his collar, then let his arm fall to his side. Yannis was still standing there, but at a nod from his master he backed away, going to crouch in the shadows.

“No thanks.” Kent drank his wine, emptying the beaker. Setting it by his side, he shook his head. “I don’t understand how you can sell people, or treat them as nothing better than animals.”

Unperturbed, Demetrious shrugged. “Because men like you will buy them.”

“But, that’s different!”

“What, you think it is better if you don’t beat your slave or brand his pretty face?”

Kent shrugged helplessly. “Yes.”

Laughing, Demetrious shook an admonishing finger at him. “Slaves don’t know about that namby-pamby stuff! Slaves want to know who is master – because they need security. Don’t spare that one the rod, for if you do he’ll never be happy.”

“Is Yannis happy?” Alexander spoke before he could stop himself.

All amusement gone from his face, Demetrious paused. His gaze lingered as it travelled over Alexander’s face, and body. Then he nodded. “Yannis would die for me. Wouldn’t you, slave?”

“Yes, master.”

“Do you want to know why? Because I saved his sister from a brothel.”

“Where is she now?”

“At my home.”

“As your whore?”

For a moment it seemed as if Alexander had pushed too far, but Demetrious smiled tightly, his anger controlled. “Kent, let me beat him for you. I would be most willing.”

“No!” Kent shook his head vehemently. “No…”

“Shame. I’d like to teach him some manners.”

“Don’t touch him.”

There was no doubt as to the warning. His brows lifting in surprise, Demetrious passed the moment off with a shrug. “Whatever you want, I was merely trying to be of help. He is far too mouthy, he needs to learn silence and obedience.”

Kent took a deep breath. “Leave him be.”

“Very well. And by the way, in case you want to know, the girl warms my bed and cares for me, just as her brother does.” He grinned wolfishly, his mouth wide, yellow with teeth. “A man needs comfort as well as security on a long journey – I’m sure you understand.”

Kent looked faintly sickened. When Demetrious began to speak again, he interrupted. “Please – you are welcome to what is left of the fire and the food, but I am going to bed.” He stood up, and taking a lamp, walked to the tent.

“You shouldn’t look down on me,” Demetrious’ deep voice called after him. “I provide much-needed merchandise.”

“Trading in lives.”

“All our lives are traded, in one way or another.” Demetrious looked amused, and he sat forward, the firelight casting his face in darkest red.

Kent stood by the tall tent, holding the lamp high. “I sell my abilities or I farm. I’m not owned.”

“Yet you own.”

Unobserved by either man, Alexander watched. He saw as Kent searched for a reply, and saw him fail. Alexander swallowed, knowing he was hurting, but unsure as to why. There was no doubt as to the truth in all the accusations. He was owned. He was a slave. But the fact seemed to hurt Kent too. And in its own way, that was worse.

As Kent ducked into the tent, he followed. At Demetrious’ loud laughter he felt his cheeks burning scarlet. Silently he let the tent-flaps fall closed. 

Kent was standing waiting for him. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Alexander fingered the worn blue cloth, and only slowly tied the flaps into place.

“For our guest.” Kent spat the word.

“It’s all right.” Turning, Alexander knelt and spread the blankets carefully. “Besides, what he said is true. You do own me.”

“Yes.” The one word was weighted with misery. Alexander glanced up, and wondered if he would ever fathom his confused and confusing owner. “Though I’d never do any of that, that…”

Alexander sighed. “I know.”

“But - ”

“Shush. Come to bed. He’ll be gone in the morning.”

“Aren’t I meant to comfort you?”

“Master, I am your humble slave, I seek your pleasure in all things.” 

“Bastard.”

“I doubt it.”

Growling, Kent beckoned. “Come here.”

Burying his unease, his own uncertainty, Alexander went, and was pulled into warm arms. “Like this?” he asked.

“Yes.” Kent kissed him, like a brother; the kiss nothing more than lips brushing cheek. His mouth was close to Alexander’s ear, and he spoke very softly. “When they’re gone I’m going to fuck you.”

“I wondered when you would again.”

“In the morning. I’ll be more gentle this time.”

“I wouldn’t worry – not unless you intend us travelling anywhere in the next few days.”

“I don’t.”

“Then there’s no problem. I won’t break, you know.”

Kent caught his breath, then laughed softly. He kissed his slave once more, then pulled him down to the blankets. Alexander lay wrapped in his arms and slowly drifted into sleep, the sound of Demetrious talking to himself a strange lullaby that lasted long into the night.

**

Alexander awoke with something sharp digging into his throat. Half asleep, he thought it must be the brooch that fastened Kent’s furs, but after a moment he realised there was no accompanying sense of being smothered. He opened his eyes – and stared into Yannis’ scarred face.

“Get up. Demetrious wants you.”

“What…?” Slipped from uneasy dream into impossible reality, Alexander felt thick with disbelief. But the sword pressed closer, and warmth began to trickle down his neck.

“You heard me.”

“Yes.” Cursing silently, Alexander remained still and tried to gather his floundering thoughts. He hadn’t guessed. Hadn’t even begun to suspect; his mind too deeply involved in other things. Such as Kent. He took a long breath as the sword was lifted. Cautiously sitting up, he pushed the blankets away and moved slowly onto his feet. “Where’s my master?”

“Outside.”

Unsure if the single word was an answer or a command, Alexander thought it simplest to walk. Dressed only in the lightest of cotton trousers, he stepped out into a pale, mist-drenched morning. By the dead embers of the fire stood the slaver, his hands braced on his hips as he stared down at Kent’s still body.

“What have you done to him?” Alarmed, Alexander ran towards him, only to fall as something hit him hard on the back of his neck. On his knees, dazed, he held himself up on his braced hands and breathed through the pain. In four heartbeats he was moving again, struggling to Kent’s side, gasping as a kick thudded into his ribs.

Clutching a naked arm, he stared into Kent’s face, desperate to know how badly he was hurt. Clouded eyes were open, unfocused, though they seemed to recognise him dimly.

“Such loyalty.” Demetrious stood over them and sneered. “Shame it’s all going to waste.”

There was no blood, but there were many ways to hurt a man. And Kent looked in extremis, his face drawn, his skin ice cold to the touch, his breathing harsh and laboured. Looking up, Alexander silently cursed the man who stared down at him. “What did you do?”

“Surely you can guess? That pretty bracelet I showed him last night has proved more valuable than I could have dreamed. I hadn’t even considered taking you both until this brute keeled over at the sight of it. After that it was almost too easy. When he stepped out for his morning constitutional I simply engaged him in conversation so Yannis could wrap that link of trinkets around his neck. The green suits him, don’t you think?”

Then Alexander saw the necklace. It was pulled tight around Kent’s neck, and the flesh around the bright stones was swollen, the veins showing green through translucent skin. Without thought, he reached for it, hating it, wanting to destroy it completely, his fingers searching for a way to remove it. But a kick acted as warning, and then the sword was against his chin, drawing blood. Gasping, Alexander stilled, slowly letting his hands drop away.

“That’s better. Thank you, Yannis.”

“You’re killing him.” Alexander stared into Kent’s face, and knew it was true. 

“He’ll live long enough for me to get him into manacles. Then I’ll take the trinkets off.”

“You bastard. How can you do this? He’s not a slave.”

“No? You mean he wasn’t.”

“No, I mean he’s a free man.”

“In the mines they won’t care. And all those muscles will earn me a pretty penny.”

Alexander shook his head in appalled disbelief. “Please, you can’t do this.”

“I can. I have…”

Alexander shook the limp arm. “Kent!”

“Save your breath – he’s quite out of it.” Demetrious proved his point and kicked the still body, hard.

“Don’t!”

“He can’t feel anything.”

Half on his feet, Alexander stopped abruptly, the blade back at his throat. He closed his eyes and heard the thud of boot into flesh. Quivering with rage, he stayed kneeling, his head angled away from the sword’s edge.

“Don’t do anything rash.” Demetrious stepped over Kent’s body and looked down into Alexander’s face. “You’ll be punished enough by the time I’m done.”

Alexander spat, and just missed one booted foot. He fell back as a heavy fist slammed into his face. Dazed, he straightened, just as Demetrious kicked him again, sending him sprawling on the parched earth.

“I will enjoy breaking you. I told that hulk who owned you that I don’t like mouthy slaves. And I don’t.”

Glaring, Alexander bit his lip as he tried to move. Slowly, he made it to his knees, and stayed there. It was less distance to fall. “You don’t own me.”

“Wrong. I own both of you now. Oh, don’t worry, I won’t damage you too badly. Though the brothels that serve the garrison towns tend not to care what their wares look like, your skin would be too good a selling point to spoil.”

“I will kill you.”

For a second, Demetrious stared into Alexander’s eyes. Then he just laughed. “A thousand others have made that promise.” Wiping his eyes, he shrugged. “Yannis can tell you, I am very hard to kill.”

“How can you stay with him?” Alexander asked the shrouded figure.

But it was Demetrious who answered. “He stays because I make his life very good.”

Yannis pushed back his hood. He was smiling, his eyes fixed hungrily on Alexander’s body.

Sickened, Alexander let that last hope die. “The sister was a lie?”

“Of course. The brand is real, but that was done before I realised quite how useful he could be.”

“I’d still hate you.”

“And if Yannis hated me he would be working a mine and dying on his feet. You think I would keep an untrustworthy bodyguard? You must think me a fool. Yannis, get him to his feet.” As Alexander was hauled upright, Demetrious came to stand before him. “I am going to enjoy beating you. I may fuck you as well, just to sample the wares. A good trader always knows what he’s selling.”

“You’re insane.”

“No, you’re wrong. I am very, very clever.” He laughed suddenly and Alexander could see the dark patches of rot that were eating away at his teeth. “Two slaves, and a good supper? What could be crazy about that?”

“You’ll be caught.”

“By who? You?” Demetrious gripped his hand around Alexander’s jaw. “You’re nothing. A slave with punishment scars. No one will listen to you, even if I let you talk. And you don’t need a tongue to suck cock. Remember that when you’re plotting against me.”

The hand gave one last shake before letting him go. Patting his cheek, Demetrious walked a few paces backwards. He stood as if assessing his new property. 

Alexander lifted his head. “It’s a long journey to the mines. You’ll have to watch me every hour of every day.”

The fighting words just made Demetrious laugh. “No we won’t. Not when you’re half dead and strapped like a side of meat across the back of one of your horses. I don’t think you’ll be running away. Or telling anyone what an awful person I am. You’ll be in chains and I’ll be long gone before you’re even capable of speech.”

The words rang too true. Alexander had seen men flogged half to death. He knew how long recovery could take – if it happened at all. He knew that he couldn’t risk a beating. If he was to get himself and Kent out of this it had to be now.

Right now…

“Yannis, bring him.”

Pushed forward, Alexander stumbled. As if trying to right himself he twisted, and fell heavily into Demetrious, his momentum taking them both hard to the ground. He heard the gasp of surprise, and another of alarm from the slave, but he shifted, fought, and somehow was underneath the tall body, an arm pulled tight around the thin, scrawny throat.

He panted in triumph, tightening his grip. “You, put your sword down or I’ll break his neck.”

Yannis hesitated. 

“Do it!”

Slowly, Yannis let the sword drop, then he tossed it to one side, the metal thudding dully onto the ground. He didn’t look too worried; in fact he was smiling. “You can’t take the two of us.”

Alexander wasn’t certain he could either. But trying was better than any other option. “Watch me.” He grunted as Demetrious kicked, his arm loosening for a brief second.

Demetrious seized the moment. “Yannis, kill him.” 

Alexander pulled his arm tighter, fighting to subdue the wiry body, to keep his only bargaining tool. And in that moment he took his eye off Yannis. Too late, he knew their plan. Gasping breathlessly as Demetrious slammed an elbow backwards, Alexander twisted, and in despair, knew he had failed.

As if in a dream, his muscles weighted, he tried to fall backwards, to escape. For Yannis had pulled a thin knife from his robes, and his arm was back, the blade thrown, the weapon a silver blur in the air, flying hard and accurate, faster than a blink of the eye.

The sound of metal slicing into flesh was sickeningly unmistakable. Alexander gasped. But he didn’t hurt. 

Didn’t…

Slowly, Demetrious slipped from his grip, the knife-shaft sticking obscenely from his body, just where his neck and shoulder joined. Time stilled. Alexander watched the body roll to the ground, blood spilling bright onto the dirt. And he heard Yannis’ despairing cry, and turning, saw him move.

Fighting to free his legs, scrabbling sideways, Alexander made it to his knees just as Yannis took him. Breath knocked from his lungs he fell, skin ripping as he slid along the hard ground, struggling as strong hands closed around his throat. On instinct alone he fought back, lifting his knee sharply, hearing the gasp of pain with a rush of triumph.

Ripping fingers away from his throat he surged up, twisting. His fist crunched into flesh and Yannis fell, but only to scissor his legs. Crashing down Alexander rolled, escaped the kick that followed him and somehow made it to back to his feet. Without pause he dived forward, hitting out, rocked as fists slammed into his face, his chest, his own punches hard and vicious. He fought without rules, without compunction. Dust coating his skin, blood blinding one eye, he knew this was his life. If he lost there was no hope.

And despite everything, he was not done with hope yet.

He grinned as his fist made the other man grunt. And hit him again. But the strong hands were reaching for him, and he knew he couldn’t win if he was taken down. He was lighter, leaner, and what advantage he had was in speed – and desperation.

Spitting dust from his mouth Alexander rammed the heel of his hand upwards, snapping the scarred head back. Savage now, he clawed one hand towards eye-sockets, his fingers scrabbling over twisted skin. His other hand tight around the solid neck, he set his jaw and squeezed.

Fighting to save his sight, his face was already darkening when Yannis realised he was choking as his wind-pipe was crushed. And even then it took a moment for him to realise he was losing.

Sobbing for breath, Alexander ignored the sudden, wild punches that rained on him. He gripped and squeezed, both hands now, merciless. This was his life. And Kent’s. He had to win. Had to.

It took far too long, and Alexander was shuddering when Yannis finally stilled, his arms falling limp to his sides. Still holding tight, Alexander waited, blinded by sweat and blood, his muscles quivering. But the body remained still. Swallowing hard, panting for breath, he very slowly peeled his hands away. There were ridges left in the throat, pale ridges that mapped his hands’ shape. And Yannis was dead.

Falling to one side, breath labouring, Alexander found himself staring up at the sky. It was very warm, the sun high. He had no idea how long they had fought.

After a while, he wiped his eyes and crawled up onto his knees, finally staggering upright. Yannis was staring sightlessly at the sky. Alexander looked once, then ignored him. The fight had taken them a long way; very slowly he walked back to the camp. He passed Demetrious, his body an island in a lake of blood, but hardly noticed, his eyes intent on the very still body that lay close to their tent.

Sweat was stinging his eyes; he wiped it away on the back of his arm. Walking unsteadily, he finally reached Kent’s side, and there, fell hard to his knees.

Kent looked dead. Tight with despair, Alexander reached out and slowly stroked his fingers down a cold cheek. Stupid with pain and loss he sat and then blinked. Kent’s chest had moved. he was breathing. Galvanised, Alexander reached for the stones threaded around Kent’s neck, scrabbling to get a purchase on them, to pull them away. But the jewels had sunk into swollen skin. Awkward, almost sobbing, he finally found purchase and tugged. Again, harder. Finally a link or thread gave, and the necklace came free.

With all his strength Alexander threw. Arching high, the stones flashing bright as emeralds in the sunlight, the bracelets twisting through the air to fall, hidden by some rocks. Panting, one hand braced on the ground, Alexander watched as breath rushed into Kent’s mouth, as he coughed, groaned, and opened his eyes.

He could have wept. Instead he held out his hand and cupped Kent’s face. The chill was gone. And as he watched, the raw, ugly marks faded, and the strange green tinge to his skin returned to a more healthy hue.

With a sharp breath, Kent sat up. Coughing, he held his head for a moment, then letting his hands fall, looked at his slave. “Alexander…”

“You’re all right.” Alexander’s voice was harsh. “I thought…” 

“Me too.” Kent nodded grimly. He looked past Alexander’s shoulder, seeing the sprawling body. “Demetrious.”

“Yes.”

“He was talking to me, smiling, asking something ridiculous – and then the slave jumped me.” Glancing back, he shook his head. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“They tied three of those bracelets around your neck. Whatever is in them, you couldn’t fight it.” Alexander let out a hard, sharp breath. “I thought you were dead. I thought we both were.”

“We aren’t.” He sounded amazed. “Thanks to you.” Kent touched a finger to a long scrape that was bleeding its way down Alexander’s arm. “You saved us.”

“He was going to sell you to the mines. I couldn’t let it happen, not without trying something.” Alexander laughed, though the sound was quite unsteady. “I killed Yannis.” He looked up, hating the way his eyes watered. “Demetrious took a knife meant for me. I think he must have bled to death while we fought. I didn’t mean to kill anyone, but there was no other way.”

“No. They deserved it.”

Alexander shivered, and Kent took him into his arms. They held on to each other, just remembering how it was to be alive. When Kent shifted, his grip tightened, and Alexander hissed a soft protest. Leaning back Kent touched his hand to Alexander’s dirt and blood-stained face. “How badly has he hurt you?”

“Bruises, scrapes.” Alexander closed his eyes, suddenly weary beyond belief. And gasped as he was lifted up, held in Kent’s arms. “What’re you doing?”

Kent kissed him on the forehead. “Taking you to the stream.”

They started walking. “Why?”

“Because I can’t see what’s been done to you while you’re filthy with dirt and blood.”

“Oh.” Alexander felt ridiculous. And he didn’t want to think. Not about what he had done, or what would happen now.

Instead he wanted to remember the feel of Kent’s strong arms, and know that at this moment, they were equal.

Close to sleep, he roused at the sound of water. He opened his eyes as Kent splashed through the shallows and waded out to the deepest stretch. He found his feet and stood, gasping as the bitterly cold water closed around him. Crouching into the ripples, he ducked under, rising up as the water around them turned cloudy, tinted darkly with dust and blood. His trousers were ruined, and the thin cotton was pulled off, left to float away. Washing was harder. Every move brought pain, but Kent helped, gently cleaning him, sloughing away the last of the dirt, peering at each gouge and scrape that emerged, kissing the bruises, staring hard at the deep cut that ridged over one eye until Alexander pushed him away and started to walk towards the bank.

He stood there as Kent stripped off his own clothes and quickly ducking under the surface, cleaned himself. He stepped naked from the stream, and Alexander took his hand.

Walking to their tent in silence, they avoided the grim reality of sprawled bodies. Instead they ducked into the welcome shade, and dressed again, Kent as conscientious as a body-slave. But when it was done, Alexander was unsteady on his feet, and he found himself pushed down onto the blankets.

“Sleep.”

“There’s too much to do…” Alexander protested, and tried to sit.

“I’ll do it. Rest. We need to move on today, and as you are you’ll just fall off your horse.”

It was true. Nodding, Alexander sighed and settled. His eyes were closed before Kent had even stepped outside.

**

He awoke to sunlight. Opening his eyes, narrowing them against the brightness, he pushed up and, propped on one arm, watched as the tent was pulled away from over his head. Still dazed with sleep, he wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, wincing at various aches. He had no idea how long he had slept, but the pack-horses were lined up, and the dead bodies were gone.

Slowly making it to his feet, Alexander watched as the tent was neatly folded. Kent walked to him and kissed him.

“You look terrible.”

“Thanks.”

Kent smiled. 

“What did you do with them?”

“They’re buried. A better fate than they deserved.”

Alexander nodded. It was amazing. Everything was done, all was packed apart from the blankets he had lain in. The camp looked serene. If you didn’t know what the dark stain that marred the ground was, you’d never suspect what had happened.

Looking at Kent, Alexander felt as if none of this could be quite real.

None of it. Especially when Kent stepped very close, his look calm, intent. Alexander started in surprise when the long fingers touched his throat, stroking the metal collar. Looking into unfathomable green eyes, he stilled, though his gut twisted and it was suddenly far too difficult to breathe.

“I was going to do this the day I bought you, but I forgot, or I didn’t want to remember. Then, well, then I was too much of a coward. Forgive me?” And gripping the heavy collar, he snapped it into two.

Alexander looked down at the twisted remains of the hated thing, not quite able to understand the strength that was destroyed by a small green stone, yet could snap iron as if it were no more than a dried branch.

That metal had been his slavery. Had been. It took a moment for him to realise what had really happened, to know what the gesture meant. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, he stood very still, his heart hammering in his chest. “Thank you. But why remove it now?”

Sighing, Kent dropped the broken metal onto the ground. “Because I want to.”

Alexander could feel sweat beading his upper lip. It was very hot, standing in the sunlight. “As payment for saving your life?”

“No!”

“Then why not before?”

Misery twisting his features, Kent shrugged. “Because I thought that without it you would leave me.”

Alexander stood, wondering. He ached. Through and through. “And you wanted me to stay.”

“Yes.”

“But not now.”

Kent looked up quickly, his face shocked. “No.” He gestured wildly. “What I want is something I was certain I could never have – you, with me. By your own free will.” He took a long breath, calming. “I bought you. How could you ever treat me as an equal?” 

Alexander almost laughed. “I thought you considered me as nothing but a slave.”

“No. You know that’s not true.”

Relenting, Alexander looked up. “I suppose so. There has been something between us - something more than simple desire - from the day you bought me.”

“And now I have no claim on you at all. You can leave, return to your life. You’re free.”

After a long moment, Alexander simply shook his head, smiling as he gave in to the truth. “No, I’m not.”

“What…?”

He reached for Kent’s hand, sliding his fingers up to circle the strong wrist, to feel the pulse there beating fast as fear. “Fool. I haven’t been free since the day I met you.”

“Alexander…please. I have freed you. If you mean anything else tell me, because I can’t be mistaken, not about this. Not about you…”

In that moment, Alexander knew there was hope for a new beginning. One where they could live as equals. “You’re not.”

“Tell me.”

“I’ll stay with you, barbarian. There’s no place else I would rather be.”

Brought close into the circle of Kent’s arms, Alexander sighed. Kent kissed him then, softly on the lips. “You’ll like my home.”

“Will you be there?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am sure it will be delightful.” He laughed as Kent blushed, and suddenly he didn’t care if any of this was real or not. He could live the rest of his life with this illusion. Nothing had ever felt as good.

“We’d better ride.”

Alexander groaned. “I know.”

“Just into the next valley – there’s water and a place we can camp.” He straightened, scenting the air. “And then we can go home. There are ships that sail from the inland sea, we can take one that will carry us north, up the long rivers and to the forests. It’ll be fast. You’ll see my house before the winter comes.”

Alexander thought about ships. “Just don’t let me drown in any of that water.”

“No. I won’t.” 

It was a promise, lightly stated, but Alexander knew it was meant. He doubted the nightmares, the dreams of sinking through the depths, would ever trouble him again. His own demons suddenly seemed very weak. But Kent’s? Suddenly remembering, he asked, “What about the green gems?”

“Still in Demetrious’ packs.”

“Let’s take them, sink them deep in that sea you’re so fond of.”

Kent nodded. “I don’t want to ever see one again.”

Alexander shuddered. “No.”

It took them another half hour to ready everything. Alexander never found where Kent had buried the bodies, but he didn’t try very hard. The long train of pack-ponies finally laden, linked one to the other, they were ready. Alexander ached as he climbed onto his mount. But Kent was there, astride his own horse, his face clear, happy.

Alexander smiled at him, and they headed north.

The End  
July 2003  
For Nerodi, who started me thinking about Clark and Lex again.


End file.
